


99 and 44/100ths Percent Done

by sarah_segretti



Category: The X-Files
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-16 01:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5807467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarah_segretti/pseuds/sarah_segretti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two mysterious and surprising cases -- plus encounters with manhole covers, ice cream and pigs -- lead Scully and Mulder down an unexpected path: the road home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	99 and 44/100ths Percent Done

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: S7 and SR 819. In this universe, events in "all things" and episodes after "Brand X," especially "Requiem," do not occur.   
> Disclaimer: Not mine, except for Luebbing and the Nachtaways. Everything in this story is fictional, especially the real things.  
> Glossary: WMD stands for weapons of mass destruction (nuclear, chemical and biological); ATF is the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms.   
> Author's note: A scullyfic improv. Elements at the end. David Duchovny stole one, and Chris Carter stole another. Since I had them first, I'm going to sue. Originally posted May 2000.

Delta Flight 726  
11:05 a.m.  
Summer 2000

Endless miles of lush green trees scrolled beneath the plane, 15,000 feet below. Scully put a finger on the airplane's window and traced the winding path of the Ohio River underneath them, stopping on each landmark. Oil refinery, old nuclear plant, stadium and skyscrapers ahead. She knew their destination more as a traveler than as a visitor, knew that the Cincinnati airport was really in Kentucky, that the rental car counters had been inconveniently removed from the baggage area, that the other Delta hubs were in Salt Lake City and Dallas, two cities she never wanted to hear anything about ever again.

She could profile any number of cities this way, based on the topography of final approach and the layout of the airport. Washington was the easiest, naturally, because it was home base. Mount Vernon, the Masonic Temple, the new strip mall at Potomac Yards ... Wait a minute. She frowned. That was Mulder's side of the river. It occurred to her that she rarely looked out the window when they came into Reagan National from the north, over Georgetown. That approach was such a roller coaster ride that it still scared her to death, even after all these years. And so Scully couldn't pick out her home from the air, the way she could Mulder's.

A stray elbow bumped her left arm off the armrest, knocking her out of her peculiar reverie. Next to her, Mulder fidgeted unhappily, trapped in both the center seat and by the overly chatty e-trader on the aisle, who was waxing evangelically about the wonders of the rebounding NASDAQ. She would have rescued her partner, but it wouldn't kill him to learn something about the market. Besides, she wasn't done puzzling out the reason they were on this plane.

The assignment had come to her. Not Mulder, not both of them. Skinner was on vacation, and so it was AD Cassidy, of all people, who'd handed her the 302. "You're to report to the Cincinnati field office," she'd said. "You're to be the agent in charge. You'll receive further information there."

And that was it. No acknowledgement of the fact that her partner was only just back on field duty and was still supposed to be selective about the cases he took. No explanation as to why she was suddenly the boss. Nothing.

Bitch.

Mulder was convinced it was punishment of some sort, but outside of running up travel expenses by flying to California about three times a month for the past year, Scully couldn't think of anything they'd done to warrant it. 

Then again, Mulder thought any case he hadn't personally selected was punishment.

His choices in the past several months had begun to worry her. Amber Lynn Pierre aside, nearly everything they'd investigated recently had had high entertainment value, goofy cases flaky even by their low standards. Lucky men, head-spinning magicians, video games, and even, she supposed, the B-movie zombies on New Year's Eve. Of course, there was also the string of brain-eating mutants, which were starting to give her flashbacks, and she hadn't been the one whose brain had been used as an experiment.

Mulder seemed to be making a statement with those cases, but she wasn't quite sure what it was. He'd come back to work too soon after his illicit surgery, just as he'd come back too soon after his mother and Samantha. He was back too soon one more time, as far as she was concerned. The last thing he'd tucked into his carry-on had been the medications he still needed to keep down the lung inflammation and prevent pneumonia, nearly 10 weeks after the tobacco beetles had done their damage.

But that was Mulder. The work always came before his health. He couldn't stand the thought of missing anything. She sighed, and glanced at him, taking care not to catch his seatmate's eye. Usually by now Mulder would have terrified a chatty passenger into silence with a flukeman story or two, but he was just staring over the seat in front of him, nodding distractedly and chewing on his lower lip instead. This wasn't right. Scully considered her options briefly, then surprised herself by quietly lacing her fingers into his.

For a heartbeat, she couldn't read his response. They'd been getting more physical with each other lately, sitting closer together, giving each other quick touches on the hand or the arm, all without the usual context of crisis, as part of the normal course of conversation as long as no one was watching. Maybe she'd overstepped ... But then she saw Mulder's shoulders settle back into place. Well, she thought. Mission accomplished. She turned back to the window, still holding his hand, as the seatbelt light dinged on.

"This would be a good time for colonization." Mulder's familiar gravel purr rumbled in her ear, its warmth completely at odds with the peculiar words. She snapped her head around in surprise.

Mulder's eyes were twinkling. "I want to be in Cincinnati when the world ends, because everything happens 10 years later there. Mark Twain."

She thumped their clasped hands on his thigh in mild reproach. "I hear it's a nice city, Mulder. Nice people. Behave yourself."

"I'd feel better about this assignment if I just knew one thing."

"Mulder, this case is *not* --"

He leaned over and brushed a fingertip across her lips. She waited, her eyes wide. The e-trader, darn him, was watching them.

"I need to know whether the Reds are in town. Forgot to check the sports section before we left." And Mulder winked at her.

Oh. Baseball. Scully remembered to exhale. Much better that he worry about Ken Griffey's home run count than FBI internal politics any day. All too aware of their seatmate's presence, she squeezed Mulder's hand and lifted an eyebrow at him. The corners of his mouth moved ever so slightly upward.

The pointless "No Smoking" light dinged on, and Scully's thoughts turned back to their mysterious case. What ever did happen in Cincinnati, anyhow?

 

Downtown Cincinnati  
12:38 p.m.

More to the point, what had happened *to* Cincinnati?

Scully vaguely remembered the city from the few times they'd been there as a mix of Art Deco skyscrapers and round-edged postmodern glass-and-concrete towers from the 1980s - the kind of place that might interest an architecture critic but not the average tourist. Now, though, a new stadium loomed nearly finished over the river. Construction cranes cut through the sky. One of the highways had been replaced by a large hole in the ground. The city seemed to be in the middle of a full-tilt boom.

And there were pigs everywhere.

Statues of pigs, to be more accurate. Pigs painted in tiger stripes, pigs in red baseball uniforms, pigs with Elvis sideburns, even pigs painted like cows. Mulder immediately adopted the greenish-silver one parked on the sidewalk in front of their swanky hotel. The sign at its feet read UPigO. 

She didn't remember this city as having a sense of humor.

"So?" she asked Mulder, joining him outside the hotel. He was deep into the sports section of the local paper, and emerged with a glum look on his face.

"So the Reds are in St. Louis, Scully," he moaned. "Griffey *and* McGwire ... "

Even Scully, who only followed baseball because of her forced access to the Fox Mulder Sports Channel, knew that missing a potential home run derby like that would be disappointing. But he'd get over it. "So are you ready to meet the local SAC?"

He blinked, coming out of his baseball-induced funk and slipping back into his regular martyr suit. "Oh, sure. Lead me on, Scully, like a pig to slaughter."

The FBI office was in the nondescript federal building a few blocks away. The pig stationed outside wore a fedora, dark glasses and a skirt. "J. Edgar Porker," Scully read aloud, and Mulder laughed. Good thing, because she was starting to get nervous now. A mystery assignment, first plane out of town, reservations at a more than decent hotel. What the hell was going on?

They flashed their badges at the first helpful looking person they saw in the cramped outer office, a young woman in a burgundy pantsuit, her dark hair pulled back in a loose bun. She wore tiny yellow earrings shaped like ... Scully blinked. Pikachu. The woman was wearing Pokemon earrings. The woman set down the white Styrofoam container she held and stuck out a hand. "Agent Jenny Nachtaway," she said, a puzzled look on her face. "Have we met before?"

Scully shook her hand, as did Mulder. "I don't think so," Scully said, deciding that the earrings were cute. She wouldn't have the nerve to wear them at work, but she could wear something similar on the weekend. "We're based in DC."

Nachtaway cocked her head, considering this. "I know I've seen you before. Well, anyway. They sent people out from headquarters for our exploding manhole covers?"

Mulder visibly perked up. "We had a run of those earlier this year. One batch went off not far from Agent Scully's place."

"Mulder." Scully sighed, feeling irritated for no good reason. "You know perfectly well those were the result of melted snow and salt shorting out damaged electrical lines."

"Damnedest thing," Nachtaway said to Mulder, either not hearing Scully or ignoring her. "They've blown at three sites in the week or so. No discernable pattern at first. The Bureau came in on the third one, two days ago, outside the main library. A witness saw what he described as a white powdery cloud rise from the manhole after the cover blew off."

"Biological agent." Mulder was nearly glowing with excitement. Scully crossed her arms and clamped them across her chest.

Nachtaway snorted in disgust. "Hell, no. Not that we can tell so far. Tested it every which way from Sunday. Nothing. But you know, we get called in on every suspected WMD event, so here we are."

"I don't think we're here for exploding manhole covers," Scully interjected, to no avail.

"You said no discernable pattern at first," Mulder said.

"Turns out that the business nearest the explosion gets an email a few hours before. A quote from a Shakespearean sonnet." Nachtaway shrugged. "Like I said, the damnedest thing. Between the weird emails and the anthrax rumors, and the fact that the library blast took out a couple of pigs, this town is pretty nuts right now. People here take their pigs seriously."

"Can I see-" Mulder began. He was cut off by another woman's voice, from the rear of the office, calling their names. Scully turned. This woman was older, in her 40s, blond highlights streaking through her light brown, shoulder-length hair. Even in a bright, buttery-yellow suit, she carried herself with authority, and it was pretty obvious now who'd called them here.

"SAC Kelly Luebbing," she said. "I know this is short notice. Thank you for coming. Follow me."

Scully frowned. The woman's tone was friendly, truly grateful. It didn't make sense. Cassidy had made this sound like an order. "Ma'am?" she asked. "Are we here for -"

"Manhole covers? I saw you talking to Nachtaway." Luebbing stopped at a closed door with her name on it. "No, you're not here for that."

She swung her door open, and both Mulder and Scully did a double take. Sitting in Luebbing's office, nearly unrecognizable in casual attire and with a light tan, was Skinner.

"Sir," Scully managed.

"I thought you were on vacation," Mulder said.

Skinner's gaze flicked involuntarily to Luebbing. Both seemed to color ever so slightly. "I am," Skinner said.

"Why don't we get out of here and grab a bite to eat?" Luebbing suggested. "We can talk about this over lunch."

"Why do I have the feeling I really would rather investigate manhole covers?" Mulder whispered to Scully.

Suddenly she was inclined to agree.

 

Skyline Chili, 7th and Vine  
1:20 p.m.

Scully picked unhappily at her Greek salad and eyed the monstrosities her lunchmates were eating. She was starving, but that cocoa-flavored meat sauce Luebbing had called chili didn't look appealing at all. Mulder was shoveling great heaps of it into his mouth while simultaneously talking baseball with the SAC, who ran a small Rotisserie league with some college friends. For all the sulking he'd done on the flight out, Mulder was on his best behavior now. He'd even resisted the temptation to make the obvious joke about his meal, chili poured over spaghetti and covered with about five pounds of shredded cheese. But she'd seen the hidden smirk as he told the waitress the name of the dish he wanted: a three-way.

She stared out the glass wall of the restaurant at the small parking lot across the street, trying to avoid looking at Skinner. He sat across from her at the small rectangular table, and his knees were practically banging against hers. She'd never been this uncomfortable around him - at least, not in a situation where they weren't pointing guns at one another - and he didn't seem too anxious to tell her and Mulder why they'd been summoned so urgently.

Plus, Luebbing was so clearly his girlfriend. Even as the SAC argued the merits of various shortstops with Mulder, and even as Skinner played unintentional footsie with his own agent, the two of them were leaning ever so slightly into one another. Anyone could see. Darn Kimberly anyhow, Scully thought. You just couldn't count on the support staff to keep you properly informed any more.

The conversation had moved on to Interesting Cases We've Worked, and Mulder was well into a retelling of their adventures at F.P.S, which made for a heck of a story, except that they'd gone to help the Gunmen on their own time and as far as she knew Skinner didn't know and she didn't want him to know...

"Ow!" Mulder reached under the table to push Scully's heel off his instep. She smiled sweetly at him.

"Sorry. Not a lot of room under the table." She watched Luebbing eyeing them speculatively. If you figure it out, honey, let me know, she thought.

Skinner cleared his throat. "Guess it's time we came clean."

She lifted an eyebrow at her boss. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Mulder assemble his expression into something reasonably polite.

"Kelly and I have been seeing each other," Skinner said. "For about six months."

"Really?" Scully said.

"I never would have guessed," Mulder said.

Luebbing looked relieved, but Skinner shook his head. "You two are the worst liars I've ever seen."

"How does the senior executive service hook up? Was it over a tower of office furniture?" Mulder continued merrily. "Or was it during the slide show on diversity in hiring?"

"Actually," Luebbing said, failing to see that Mulder was teasing, "it was a management seminar on how to deal with extended employee absences."

"I was the speaker," Skinner said.

This was funny and not, all at the same time. Scully glanced quickly at Mulder, and figured he was thinking the same thing. They both kept their mouths shut.

"Nachtaway was just back from her third maternity leave in six years. We had another agent with an ailing parent, and another who'd had a heart attack." She shrugged. "I was a little frustrated. I talked to Walter, and he was a terrific help."

Mulder appeared to process all of this for a second - Scully herself was having trouble with the "Walter" part - and then leaned forward. "This doesn't explain why we're here, unless you wanted her to meet your case studies."

"Believe it or not, Agent Mulder, I have other agents who have landed in the hospital," Skinner growled. He hesitated before continuing. "Yesterday, I had another... attack."

"Here?" Scully said, surprised. "Now? Why?"

"Is there something going on we don't know about, sir?" Mulder wondered.

Again, Skinner shook his head. "I haven't seen either of our friends-"

Scully held out a hand to stop him. Luebbing was following their conversation as if it was a rapid-fire tennis match but she didn't understand all the rules. "No offense, ma'am, but ... sir, should she be hearing this?"

"I told her about ... my condition." Skinner's tone was clear: And that's all I told her about. "She was there when it happened."

"Scared the living daylights out of me," Luebbing said. "I begged him to see a doctor, to go to the emergency room, anything. He said there was no point. And I told him he was crazy."

She was giving Scully a pleading look - I'm right, aren't I? Scully hated to disappoint her. "I'm afraid he's right, ma'am. It has to ... resolve on its own."

"But I told him we had to do something, and he agreed that I could call you," Luebbing finished.

"Are you positive there's nothing going on, sir?" Scully asked.

"I haven't seen either of our friends in months, not since Mulder's... surgery." Skinner looked uncomfortable. There's an employee absence for you, Scully thought, her mind still turning over possible motives. She realized Skinner was looking directly at her. "Did Spender-" he began

"No. Nothing important," Scully said abruptly, sensing Mulder puff up beside her. Her little jaunt with Spender was still a sore point between them. "He had nothing to say. He's very ill himself."

"Bully for him," Skinner said. Luebbing blinked in surprise. Poor woman, Scully thought. Welcome to our world.

"So what do you want us to do, sir?" Mulder leaned back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest to reinforce the message. Scully knew Skinner wouldn't miss the uncooperative tone of her partner's voice. She frowned, concerned by his attitude. He'd led the charge the first time Skinner had been hit by the nanocytes; what was up with him now?

"Find Krycek," Skinner said. "Kick his ass. I'm tired of him being out there, fucking with all of us. We can get him on half a dozen outstanding warrants -"

Mulder snorted and looked away. Both Skinner and Scully stared at him. "Mulder?" Scully said.

"We've let this bastard go too long," Skinner said. "This time, we will find him, and we will own him. That's an order."

"He's probably gone by now," Mulder said, not looking at any of them. "He tracked you down, decided you were too happy, messed with your head, and left."

Scully was aghast. "Mulder!"

He turned on her. "Mulder what? This is a pointless exercise. He's playing with you, sir. It's personal. I can't help."

"Mulder!" Scully said again.

"Sorry, Scully. Sorry, sir." Mulder began to rise from his seat, but Skinner lunged across the table and grabbed his arm. Luebbing caught an empty chili plate and a glass of water before they could skitter into her lap. Skinner and Mulder stared each other down.

"It is personal," Skinner said softly, dangerously. "Reconsider."

Mulder shook his arm free, got up, and left.

Silence. "I think I'll go pay for lunch," Luebbing finally said, and hurried off to the cash register. Scully contemplated her boss for a second. He contemplated back.

"Is everything all right, Agent?" he asked.

She had no idea. "As all right as it ever is, sir," she said coolly.

Luebbing returned and slid quietly into her seat. Scully tried not to notice that she'd also slipped her hand into Skinner's. It was especially disconcerting, given that the look Luebbing was now sending her way was no longer worried lover, but Special Agent in Charge.

"I did sign off on that 302," Luebbing said. "I'd like you to convince Agent Mulder that this is important. If I understand all this correctly, there has been an assault on a federal officer. That does not happen on my watch. It will be taken care of."

For a second, Scully considered arguing with her, defending Mulder even though she thought his attitude was indefensible. But she knew from the set to the SAC's jaw that it would be a waste of breath. "Yes, ma'am," she said.

And then it was her turn to stand, and leave.

The short walk back to the federal building gave her just enough time to work up a head of steam. Something else had to be going on in his head, something serious, or he had no reason that she could accept for rejecting Skinner so cavalierly. She had a sudden, but not unfamiliar, thought: If he's hiding something from me, if he knows something about Krycek, or God forbid it's something as petty as I'm the SAC on this case, I'm going to kill him.

Mulder and Nachtaway surprised her when she stepped out of the elevator back at the federal building. "There's been another one," Mulder said, spinning her around and guiding her back into the elevator before she could say a word. 

Scully fumed. Manhole covers. I'm going to kill him slowly, she decided.

 

Krohn Conservatory  
Eden Park  
2:30 p.m.

"The first batch of manhole covers blew at the new Bengals stadium." Nachtaway was driving to the scene, Mulder at her side in the passenger seat. Scully, in the back, refused to get interested, and plotted ways to get out of this unnecessary side trip. "A couple of cranes were dented, no major damage, lots of interest - but it seemed like a construction accident."

Mulder nodded. Scully changed her mind, and thought about nanocytes instead.

"Next was the Enquirer building, a couple of days later." Mulder looked puzzled; Nachtaway elaborated. "The morning paper. But they're only two blocks from the stadium, so everyone assumed it was a ripple effect from the construction accident."

"How did you figure out it wasn't?" Mulder asked.

Nachtaway changed lanes to avoid a bus. Scully marveled at the lack of traffic so close to downtown. "We didn't. The Enquirer's Bengals reporter did. He was talking to someone from the team's front office, and she mentioned a weird email, and he mentioned it back at his office, and the woman who compiles letters to the editor overheard-"

"And she'd seen something similar," Mulder finished. "So what were the sonnets?"

"The Bengals got this one: 'Some glory in their birth, some in their skill/Some in their wealth, some in their body's force,'" Nachtaway recited.

"Number 91," Mulder said. "Nice."

Scully rolled her eyes, completely annoyed. "Showoff."

"Hey, I thought it wasn't bad for someone who hasn't read a book without a cartoon character in it for six years," Nachtaway said.

Scully winced. Time to get with the program. "I'm sorry. I meant him," she said. "What about the newspaper?"

"'The owner's tongue doth publish everywhere.'"

"Who owns the paper?" Scully asked.

"Same people who own USA Today," Nachtaway said. "Biggest chain in the country."

Mulder smiled. "I like it. And the library?"

"'Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall burn/The living record of your memory.'" Nachtaway smiled, too. "I also know huge chunks of the script to 'Pokemon: The First Movie,' if you're interested."

That explains the earrings, Scully thought. "But why sonnets?"

Nachtaway shrugged. "Don't know yet. Here we are."

They were winding through a huge park, and Nachtaway pulled over a block or so away from what looked like a huge greenhouse. "Oh, shit," she said.

Dozens of police cars and fire trucks surrounded the scene; TV vans and utility trucks formed a perimeter around the emergency vehicles. But Scully saw what had caught Nachtaway's attention - the yellow school bus, and behind it, the ambulances. 

"Shit, shit, shit," Nachtaway said softly, and bolted out of the car.

Mulder turned to look at Scully as Nachtaway ran to the scene. "Still think this case isn't important?"

Oh, great. He'd decided he was on the high moral ground. She wanted to strangle him. "Stop it, Mulder. I'll help. For now."

Up close, the scene was even more chaotic. The manhole cover had hurtled through the front wall of the glass building. Scully sucked in her breath as she spotted the bloodied, crying children, maybe about five or six years old. Nachtaway was talking to a slim, exotic-looking blonde with a cut on her forehead and blood on her blouse and jeans. Most of the kids were upright, Scully noted with relief, standing or sitting.

The hazmat-suited health department workers had blocked off a safe zone around the open manhole, and local police, firefighters and reporters swarmed outside the yellow tape marking its boundary. Amid the swirl of activity, Mulder touched her gently at the small of her back. A little bit of her anger at him dissipated, and she nodded to acknowledge his presence. He always worried too much about her when children were involved.

Nachtaway trotted over, a grim expression on her face. "Fuck," she said. "The blonde is my next-door neighbor. She brought her daycamp class to see the butterflies. One of the kids tripped running from the commotion and broke her arm. The rest were hit by flying glass." She rubbed her forehead, and for a second Scully saw the frightened mother leak through the special agent facade. "Anyway. I'm going to go check for funky email. You two start talking to the staff."

She gestured at a group of people in polo shirts and gardening aprons, huddled together near the curb. "Man, this one is really going to piss people off," Scully heard her say as she walked away.

She took in the scene for a heartbeat - the teacher comforting some of the children, a TV reporter talking calmly to a staff member without camera or microphone, Nachtaway waving a casual hello to one of the moon-suited health department workers - and realized something. These people all knew one another. Maybe not literally, but emotionally. A wave of feeling washed over her, one she almost recognized but couldn't pinpoint.

"We're not here for this, Mulder," she said quietly, still unsettled by the unnamed emotion, knowing that she'd been won over for now.

"I came for the baseball, myself." He briefly touched her arm, but didn't meet her eyes. "Thanks, Scully."

And then he was off, leaving her to wonder once more what was going on in his head -- and what was going on in hers.

 

4:28 p.m.

Except for the email - "Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gather'd" - they found nothing unusual. The FBI agents, joined by Luebbing and her ATF counterpart, regrouped on the sidewalk outside the shattered conservatory for a small federal debriefing. City workers swept up glass and nailed wood over the broken windows, while utility workers set up camp near the decontaminated manhole. The ambulances were gone, the children sent home. A few stray TV trucks remained behind. The air had turned thick and damp, the traditional late-afternoon summer thunderstorm threatening. 

"Nothing at all?" Luebbing asked.

Nachtaway shook her head and glanced at Scully and Mulder. "Maybe with a few fresh eyes, we'll see something we're not seeing now."

"We checked out the ATF reports on the explosions in Georgetown," the ATF agent said. "Inconclusive."

"There was some loose talk about possible terrorism, but nothing ever came of it," Scully said.

The three Cincinnatians shuddered. "Don't even suggest that," Luebbing said.

Mulder looked thoughtful. "Wasn't Cincinnati a terminus for the Underground Railroad?"

"Yeah, but the famous sites are out in Brown County, not up here," Nachtaway said.

"Mulder, the Civil War ended 135 years ago. I think the spirits of the slaves would have gotten angry and wreaked their revenge by now," Scully told him, aware that the local agents were now giving them very peculiar looks.

"Construction at the stadium could have disrupted-"

"Mulder."

He shrugged. "Just a theory."

Luebbing wore an expression Scully had seen on other agents and police officers, the one that said she regretted requesting their presence, for any reason. "Let's go back to the office and get started on the paperwork. Maybe something will pop up that wasn't obvious before. Agent Mulder, I want you to ride with me."

Uh oh. Scully watched Mulder's face go blank. As much as she'd wanted to tear into him earlier, she knew Luebbing was about to step into a minefield. Whatever you're hoping to accomplish isn't going to work, ma'am. God, I hope Skinner gave her more information.

"Just us girls, then," Nachtaway said. "Let's go home."

 

"That's a phone call I pray I never get." Nachtaway plugged her key into the ignition. Scully gave her a curious look. "The one that poor injured kid's parents got. Jesus."

Scully shivered. She'd always thought about that issue in reverse. How do you tell a child his mother had been beaten by a madman, been kidnapped, been gutshot? She pushed the thought away. Best not to think about that now. She studied her companion's face as the car pulled away from the curb. They were about the same age, as near as she could guess. What a different life she must lead. "How old are your children?" Scully asked softly.

"Thomas just turned six, Emma is three and Joey is a year old. I must have been out of my mind to have three." Despite her words, she was beaming, and it was contagious. Scully found herself smiling, too. Nachtaway opened her mouth as if to say more, but censored herself, blushing. "But you don't want to hear about my kids."

Suddenly Scully wanted nothing more. She wanted to be in a coffee shop over some double tall lattes talking about rude soccer coaches or lounging on the back deck complaining about their men. She wanted the company of women. How long had it been since she'd had serious girl talk with anyone? Not since Melissa had died. It hit her then, what the feeling was she'd had at the crime scene: it was much the same as when she'd been told she was infertile. She hadn't known how much she wanted a baby until she knew she couldn't have one; now she realized how much she missed being in touch with the world, reminded by circumstance that she wasn't a part of it. She had to look away from Nachtaway, look out the window. Fortunately, they were driving past some spectacular old houses and it made sense for her to do that.

"I appreciate you helping out today," Nachtaway was saying. "You might just be the set of eyes we need."

Work. Yeah. She could talk about work. "Me?"

"Both of you." Nachtaway smiled. "I remembered where I've seen you before. On 'Cops.'"

Oh, Lord. Scully covered her face with her hands. "I didn't want to do that."

"Couldn't tell." Nachtaway said dryly. "You came off fine. And he was fiiiiine. The leather jacket - I can't believe I didn't place him before now." Scully's eyes widened in surprise. "Oh, stop," Nachtaway said. "Like you never noticed."

Scully shrugged diffidently. "I see him every day."

Her companion laughed. "Liar."

Oh, all right. She'd play. "Maybe."

Nachtaway chuckled again. "Liar. Question. Would you have kicked his butt over that werewolf crap if the camera hadn't been on?"

"Absolutely," Scully said without hesitation. "I do it every day."

"Now that I believe." Nachtaway braked for a stop light, and gestured at the car in front of them. "Oh, look. That'll be me and my oldest when he's a teenager."

They were behind Luebbing's car. Both her hands were on the wheel, but she'd turned to her passenger, who was not looking at her. In fact, Mulder was deliberately looking out the side window. "Oh, Mulder," Scully said, not realizing she'd said it aloud. "Don't make it worse ... "

The light turned green. Luebbing peeled away, and Nachtaway followed. She was silent for a second. "So you really do worry about him, not just when you think he's going to make a fool of himself on TV."

"Somebody's got to." Scully watched the other car recede. "He's had a bad year. He - " She paused, swallowed, opted for the short form. "He lost his mother and his sister this winter." There. It still made her heart break to think of Teena and Samantha, yanked out from under him within days of one another.

"Jesus." Another beat of silence. "He wheezes a little. Like my kid's friend who's got asthma. Is he okay?"

"He had a lung infection that nearly... that..." Say it fast, get it out. "That nearly killed him. About two months ago."

"Jesus," Nachtaway said again, more emphatically this time, but Scully's entire focus was on staying serene. She had to focus hard. "How long have you two been partners?"

"Seven years."

"Then, a bad year for you, too, then, right?"

The events of the year ripped through Scully's mind like pictures in a flipbook, and her chest tightened painfully. What was wrong with her today? Just because someone halfway friendly seemed to give a damn didn't mean she had to lose all self-control.

"I'm sorry," Nachtaway said. "I shouldn't have asked."

"It's okay. It wasn't all bad," Scully managed, not wanting to go any further into the horror that this year had been, and the last year, and the year before, and the one before that. "We had some ... resolution."

She was thinking of Samantha, and the way that she herself was slowly rebuilding her shattered belief system, so Nachtaway's delighted giggle startled her. "So you two are together! I knew it."

"No," Scully said automatically. "Well ..." She thought a second. "No. We're not. Exactly. No."

"Still too new to dissect?" Nachtaway asked gently.

Scully flattened her hands on her lap and studied her fingernails. This was just like talking to Melissa. She thought she liked it. It was hard to remember. "Yes."

"It's okay. I remember that stage."

"Your husband's with the Bureau?"

"Oh, God, no. He's a chemist at Procter & Gamble. But I was new here when we met, and I didn't want anyone to see this giddy little girl in love. I wanted to be taken seriously. So I never talked about him. Now - " She shrugged.

They were pulling into the federal building's garage. "Now you wear Pikachu earrings," Scully said, a little baffled.

"Now I'm the mother of three small children. *Nobody* takes me seriously." Nachtaway winked, and pulled into her parking space. She twiddled an earring. "You like 'em?"

"Actually, yes," Scully admitted. "They're cute."

"My husband found them somewhere. They were a Mother's Day gift." She unlocked the doors, and she and Scully stepped out of the car. "I have to admit, I'm more of a Snorlax girl myself, but maybe that's six years of lost sleep catching up with me."

Scully punched the elevator button, and decided she could risk a little whimsy. "I like Psyduck," she said. "The pinpoint pupils are a little weird, but having the power to confuse would be very useful."

"You know what my kid calls that? The power of headache."

Both women laughed. "I like that," Scully said. "I can think of some people I'd like to give a headache." In a sudden burst of courage, realizing that if Nachtaway laughed, it would be because she found this funny, she pressed her fingers to her temples, squeezed her eyes shut, and in a fair imitation of the animated critter, squealed, "Psy! Psy! Psy!"

The elevator doors slid open as a giggling Nachtaway put her fingertips to her temples, and Scully stopped in mid "Psy!" Mulder stood in the elevator, alone, gaping at her. She stepped in quickly and said nothing. Nachtaway stopped laughing immediately. "Pokemon," the other agent said matter-of-factly. "Psyduck."

Mulder blinked. "How do you know about Psyduck, Scully?"

The best tack to take, she decided, was follow Nachtaway's lead and pretend that nothing unusual was going on. "My nephews, Charlie's kids. At Easter, remember? It was all they talked about. I, uh, picked up a little."

"What I remember," he said, and his voice turned private and dangerous, "is that one of those little punks handcuffed us together with his cheap toy handcuffs and flushed the key down your mother's toilet."

Scully felt herself blush. What Mulder wasn't mentioning was that David had then begun to sing, "Aunt Dana and Mulder sitting in a tree..." in front of her mother and brother and God knew who else her mother had invited to Easter dinner. And she'd also found herself wishing she could keep the handcuffs.

"Sounds like some Easter," Nachtaway said.

"Every Easter basket ought to include a hacksaw," Mulder said, deadpan.

The elevator doors opened. "Okay, you crazy kids," Nachtaway said. "Help me write up a report and I'll tell you where to get ice cream to die for. Chocolate chips as big as your hand."

"Ooh, Scully, there's an X-file you can get behind," Mulder teased.

Something in his voice made her study him closely. Yes. This was an act for Nachtaway's benefit. He was upset. Later, she thought. Ice cream will loosen anyone's tongue.

Fountain Square  
Downtown Cincinnati  
8:43 p.m.

When they stepped out of the federal building a few hours later, done with the paperwork on a case they weren't even assigned to, Scully was more than ready for that ice cream. Mulder had been sending her pleading, big-eyed looks over the top of his borrowed computer all evening, a child begging not to be disciplined. And she hadn't been able to shake that strange, unsettling feeling of being homesick for a place she'd never been.

This was no mood to be in to discuss the case they *were* assigned to. This was no mood to be in at all.

She looked out over the bus shelters outside the courthouse next door, their lights just flickering on, past the peculiar giant gold robot Nachtaway had claimed was Art. She felt more than saw Mulder at her side, and lifted her face into the summer breeze, letting it ruffle her hair. The threat of the thunderstorm had passed, and the heat of the day had vanished with it.

"It cools off here at night," Mulder said with some surprise. "Are you sure about that ice cream?"

Scully had never been so sure about anything in her life. The gentle warmth of the evening was working its way into her bones, relaxing her, making her want to forget the day. She glanced up at her partner, who had also lifted his face to the cloudless sky. In the twilight, the lines of tension around his eyes and mouth were hardly visible. Suddenly, she wanted to see him that way forever. Any desire she'd had to chew him out for his behavior at the restaurant vanished. Luebbing had probably done a number on him, anyway.

/You need this ice cream as badly as I do, G-Man./

She slipped her hand into his and quickly squeezed it before letting go. "Just because it isn't 95 degrees at 9 p.m. doesn't mean it's cold, Mulder. The ice cream is this way."

 

Carrying their ice cream, they wound up across the street from their hotel, on the huge brick plaza that served as the city fulcrum. Mulder sat on the low black marble wall that was both plaza boundary and bench. "So if you don't like the disgruntled slave theory, Scully, what do you like?"

How Mulder could think about a case while holding a cup of this frozen fantasy-come-true in his hands was beyond her. Nachtaway hadn't exaggerated about the ice cream. Scully sat next to him and worked her pink plastic spoon around the edges of a chocolate chip that was more like a three-inch square slab. She scraped away the chocolate ice cream with the care of an archeologist unearthing the treasures of the Pharaohs. "I don't know - disgruntled employee?" A mist of spray from the nearby fountain caught her, but she hardly noticed. Almost there...

"Explain the Shakespeare, then," Mulder said around his spoon.

"Nobody appreciates his education? Oh!" Scully plucked the huge square of chocolate out of her ice cream and showed it to Mulder. "Mine's bigger than yours."

"That's just not possible, Scully," Mulder said dryly.

She ignored him, and sank her teeth into the chocolate. It had the texture of refrigerated butter, hard and soft at the same time, and she closed her eyes happily as the taste soaked into her tongue. I'll investigate manhole covers here until the day I die if I can just eat this divine stuff every day, she thought.

Mulder cleared his throat, and she opened her eyes again. His eyes seemed a little glazed. "No more non-fat tofutti dreamsicles for you," he said. "Ever."

She found it hard to tear her gaze away from his. "Settle down, Mulder," she finally said. "You're melting my ice cream."

He shook his head. "I should know better than to get between a woman and her double chocolate chip."

They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, listening to the burble of the fountain and the light traffic at their backs. Scully almost felt like swinging her legs like a little girl. She lifted her face into the warm summer breeze again. Clean, not like at home. Something about being outside in late June and not having to gasp for breath in fetid air was making her giddy. Or maybe it was just the ice cream.

This is crazy, she thought. They were here on a case, or maybe two, and all she could think about was making friends or her partner's troubles or the way he was intently scraping the last drops of mocha ice cream soup out of his paper cup instead of the reason they were here ...

A friend. A good friend and ally, whose life was in danger.

Immediately, she felt guilty.

Mulder gave her a friendly nudge in the shoulder. "Whatcha thinking about?"

"Skinner," she said. "That's why we're here, right?"

He looked away as if she'd slapped him. Even though she'd been angry with him earlier, she felt terrible; she'd not meant to be so sharp. She hesitated, then put a hand on his arm.

"Despite what everyone now thinks, I do care," Mulder said quietly.

"I know you do." Scully tried to make her next words sound gentle. "It just didn't seem that way at lunch."

"I felt blindsided. If either of them had called us and said, 'Hey, we've got a problem here,' I'd have been on the next plane without argument." He met Scully's eyes; she knew she had an eyebrow up. "Well, a little bit of an argument."

"And you still would have checked the sports section."

"Without hesitation." He nearly smiled, but the mood passed quickly. He poked idly at the bottom of his empty ice cream cup with the silly plastic spoon. "I seem to have a low tolerance for subterfuge these days."

"Isn't dealing with subterfuge part of our job description?" she joked nervously. He was skating close to something she wasn't sure she wanted to hear.

"I'd like to rewrite mine," he said seriously. "I've about hit my limit."

Scully tensed, automatically throwing up all the emotional defenses she used to deflect conversations like this one. But ... no. It wasn't right to do that to him tonight, not when *his* emotional defenses were clearly, and willingly, down.

"What happened?" she asked, hoping her voice sounded steady.

"Nothing in particular. A lot of things." He shrugged, eyes on the fountain. "Used to be people would just lie to me. Now they lie to me, and I land in the hospital. You know, I still can't pull a deep breath without it hurting."

She nodded. She knew he was limited to swimming for exercise, and hadn't resumed his running. That pained her. She knew how much he loved it, and there was no indication when his lungs would be healed enough to let him start running long distances again. Four times, she realized. Four times he almost died on me this year. Her eyes stung for a second, and she blinked the tears away before he could see.

"Seems like we spend too much time recuperating and not enough time living," Mulder said.

Scully let her hand slide down his arm until it was atop his hand, and he put the cup down so that their fingers could entwine. She couldn't get over how much they'd been touching each other today, how intimate the touches had become. How public, she thought as Mulder brought her hand to his lips for a kiss. That was one of the few memories she cared to take out and examine from the days when she was dying - the open affection he'd shown her then. Too many years had gone by since then, too many chances they'd let slide.

"I still care about our work, Scully, don't get me wrong," Mulder said at last. "I'd just like a run of cases where we both come out intact at the end."

She tucked an errant strand of hair behind one ear. "So manhole covers win out over nanotechnology, as far as you're concerned."

"Just until morning, okay?" he pleaded. "Then I'm your nano-boy."

Scully considered. It seemed fair. The night was calm and cool, the fountain pretty. The streets were quiet. Mulder's hand was warm in hers. One night without conspiracy or fear. One normal night.

It seemed more than fair.

"Okay," she said.

And as she turned to look at him, and he to her, she felt something inside her tilt, and shift, and settle into its proper place. Focus. Until nothing was left but her and Mulder, leaning towards each other, letting their lips touch, and press, and move against one another.

/Mocha/ was her only coherent thought as his hands cupped her face, and somehow she was standing between his knees, her arms wrapped around his neck, the boundaries between them vanishing. New Year's Eve had been a promise delayed, all the touches and chaste kisses on hands and foreheads since then a reminder of the covenant not yet signed. Mulder, her mind sighed, as she let her hands run over the sleeves of his no-longer-crisp dress shirt, over the loosened knot of his tie, into the slightly sweaty hair that needed a trim. Mulder, at last.

When they finally parted, a lifetime later, Mulder simply stood up, picked up his jacket, and slipped his free arm over her shoulders. Scully tucked her arm around his waist, surprised at how easy it was, not surprised at how well they fit together.

"Home?" she said.

"Home," he agreed. 

Only the slight tremble in his voice gave him away. He knew. She knew.

She wasn't nervous at all.

At the door to her hotel room, she stopped to fish her keycard out of her jacket pocket, a task made more difficult by the fact that Mulder had enveloped her from behind and was tracing his thumbs in lazy circles along her rib cage. Oh, now he was nuzzling her neck, his evening stubble rough against her skin. God. Her fingers lost their grip on the keycard and it dropped to the plush carpet.

"Mulder - key - have to -" She shifted in his arms so that they were facing each other.

"I'll get it," he said huskily. "Anything for you, Scully."

"Anything?" She deliberately pitched her voice lower, just to see if he'd gulp. Yeah. Right there. She knew from him an Adam's apple bob was a sign of great emotion.

"Scully, I - " he began, but she made a decision: If that mouth was going to move, it was going to be on her. Impulsively, she grabbed his tie and pulled his face down to hers, feeling daring. He actually moaned as she slid her tongue into his mouth - me! she thought. I made him do that! - and he backed her against her still-closed door for better leverage.

She wasn't even sure what he was doing any more, only that he didn't seem to be holding his jacket any more, and his hands were a million places at once, and his mouth was on her throat again, and she was drowning in him, drowning -

Something sandpapery and sharp scraped across her throat. "Ow!"

Mulder was upright and sober immediately, hands on her face, at the back of her neck, panic crossing his face. "What??"

"Sorry," she said breathlessly, touching his cheek lightly. "Stubble, that's all."

He wiped fingertips along his jaw and looked like he was going to faint. "Christ, Scully, don't scare me like that." Suddenly he blinked and studied her more closely. "Um, I think I'll go shave. I don't need the entire Cincinnati field office thinking I beat the crap out of you."

Now it was her turn. "What??"

"You should see your mouth." A wolfish grin split his face. "I don't mind leaving my mark, but I don't want to leave a scar. Save my place." He gave her a rough kiss and darted down the hall to his own room.

Baffled, Scully picked up her keycard and Mulder's jacket from the floor and opened her door. Oh, my goodness, she thought, catching sight of herself in the mirror above the dresser. Her hair was a mess, her lips swollen already, and she had the faintest scrape on her throat, under her right ear. Oh, my goodness. She touched her lips, and smiled. So that's how it's going to be. She slipped out of her jacket and draped it and Mulder's over a chair, then removed her holster and handcuffs, leaving them on the dresser. The ice bucket caught her eye. If only we had some wine, she thought, and then had a better idea.

Out in the public hallway, she ran a finger down the buttons on the soda machine. Sprite, Coke, Diet Coke -- there. She punched the last button twice, and two cans of iced tea rattled down. He may have been kidding all those years ago on that stakeout, but she wasn't joking now. She hoped he remembered.

Scully scooped the cans out of the machine, and stepped out of the alcove housing the soda and ice machines. Movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she glanced down the hall. Another guest, she assumed - and froze.

Krycek.

Shit.

He ducked down another leg of the hallway, and she yelled, "Mulder! Alex Krycek! Freeze!" and ran after him.

Nevernevernevernever take my gun off again, she thought, her feet pounding on the carpet, trying desperately to catch up with the longer-legged Krycek. "Damn it, Krycek, stop! Federal agent!" she shouted, just as he found the emergency exit and plunged through. Where the hell is Mulder? Why the hell did I leave my weapon behind?

Desperate, she looked around - and her gaze landed on the fire rescue cabinet. She dropped one can of tea, and smashed open the lock with the other. Grabbing the long firehook, she ran after Krycek.

He was already a floor below, but gravity helped her catch up. The second iced tea can struck him in the back of the head, and he went down hard, tumbling down half a flight of stairs and landing against a red utility pipe that snaked up through the stairwell. Scully caught up with him, trapped his good wrist in the hollow between the heel and sole of her shoe, and jammed the firehook up under his chin like a spear, pinning him to the floor.

"Goddamn, Scully, I wish I liked girls," Krycek gasped. "Does Mulder like it this rough?"

Some junior-high remnant in her brain was squealing omigod he saw us omigod, and she slapped it down. "Shut up, Krycek," she snapped. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to see the pigs."

One comedian in her life was enough. Irritated, she jabbed him with the firehook, and he flailed his artificial hand at her in distress. "Why are you here?" she said again.

"You know why." His tight-lipped smile didn't reach his eyes.

That was it. "So help me, Krycek, if you don't give me a straight answer, I'm going to stomp on your good hand until you need a second prosthetic."

"Save some of that energy for your partner," he jeered, but she noticed that his face had gone several shades whiter. She moved her foot so that her heel was more directly touching his wrist, and decided to stop screwing around.

"How do you do it?" she said. "How do you trigger the nanocytes?"

Krycek sighed, defeated, and nodded to his left. "In my pocket."

Warily, Scully bent over and fished an electronic device out of Krycek's jacket. "A Palm Pilot?"

"Modified. Punch in a few commands and the big man's vascular system is hard as a rock."

She stared at it, horrified, afraid to even open it for fear of hitting the wrong buttons by mistake. "Why now?"

Under the firehook, Krycek shrugged. "Cancerman's more concerned with his legacy. Everyone else is dead. Who knows what happened to the aliens? Guess I'm just bored."

For that, she did step on his hand, and he howled. "Fuck, Scully! That's a violation of my civil rights."

"Tell it to Janet Reno," she snarled. "How do I turn it off?"

"How the hell should I know? I'm just the messenger boy," he spat back, and she thought she picked up a hint of bitterness. "It's alien technology, anyhow, and we're not on speaking terms at the moment."

Aliens. Always the goddamned aliens. "How -" she began, and was interrupted by a crash from above. A door flew open, feet pounded down the stairs - Mulder. Finally. But his face was a peculiar shade of red, and although he had his gun in one hand, the other clutched his T-shirt covered ribcage, under his heart, as if he was nursing a stitch - shit. Shocked, she realized he was in no shape to be in the field.

"Scuh ... Freeze ... Got 'im ..." Mulder gasped above her. He tried to level his gun at Krycek, but couldn't hold the gun steady. Scully glanced at Krycek, then up at Mulder again. Oh, my God, were his lips blue? The firehook jarred out of her grasp, and she turned at the impact. Krycek was sitting up, leaning forward - was he going to bite...? She snatched her foot off his hand to protect her ankle, lost her balance, and stumbled into the stairpost, falling into Mulder's potential line of fire. The Palm Pilot clattered to the floor. Krycek grabbed it and scrambled to his feet. Scully grabbed for his jacket, but he slipped free.

"Kry - free -" Mulder tried again, but Krycek was down another flight of stairs before he could fire. Scully ducked, trying to get out of Mulder's way, but she could see that he still had no clear shot, not from that angle. Krycek turned, looked straight at Scully, and poked the Palm Pilot with the stylus. And with an evil, feral grin, he was gone.

Mulder stumbled down the last few stairs and dropped to his knees next to her, gun still in one hand, wheezing pathetically. "Fuck," he said after a minute. "Fucking fuck." He looked around in frustration, grabbed the abandoned firehook and flung it impotently down the stairwell in Krycek's general direction. "Fuck."

My sentiments exactly, Scully thought. "Are you all right?"

He nodded, gulping for air. She could just see the nicotine patch poking out from under the sleeve of his T-shirt. "Just ... I thought ... but -- can't. Run as far. You know. Shit." Anger and anguish warred on his face. "Gimme a minute. Shit."

Frustrated and frightened, she rubbed his back while he caught his breath. This was crazy. Despite the doctor's okay, he wasn't healed. Skinner was asking a lot. And her evening was ruined.

"Fuck Skinner," Mulder finally said. His color was returning to normal. "*I* get to kick Krycek's ass."

She helped him to his feet. "Get in line, Mulder." 

"I hate this, Scully," he rasped at her.

She wasn't sure which "this" he was referring to, but she nodded in agreement, and led him to her room. Nothing was going to happen now, she admitted sadly to herself, but she wanted him in a place where she could hear him breathing. He didn't protest when she made him lie down on the extra bed, just closed his eyes. Scully watched his taut expression for a second, gently brushing her fingers through the short, damp hair above his left ear, running the backs of her fingers over his clean-shaven cheek, watching his face relax as he got more air into him.

This is crazy, she thought again.

The phone rang, startling them both. Mulder's eyes snapped open. "Agent Scully," she said, and listened, and grimly hung up the phone. Mulder searched her face, wondering.

"SAC Luebbing," she told him. "Skinner's had another attack."

 

Luebbing's apartment  
10:05 p.m.

"Bored? He said he was BORED??"

The indignant, full-throated roar came not from AD Skinner, perched on the edge of Luebbing's neat striped couch, his head in his hands, but from Luebbing herself. The SAC was on her feet, staring in shock at Scully, who was having another epiphany: What I do for a living isn't normal, even by FBI standards.

"Yes, ma'am." She folded her hands together in her lap, as if she were sitting primly in the office, not in the magazine-perfect condo of her boss's girlfriend.

"That's the Krycek we know and love, ma'am," Mulder added from his seat in an overstuffed chair. Scully glanced at him. He still wasn't breathing quite right, and he looked exhausted. She was grateful that he at least sounded vaguely respectful.

Luebbing opened her mouth, obviously annoyed - so much for that early rapport, Scully thought - but Skinner cut her off. "How did he get away this time, agents?"

She saw Mulder's face fall, and jumped in. "My fault, sir," she began.

"Does it matter?" Luebbing exclaimed. "We know he's here. It's been less than an hour. He can't even have gotten to the airport yet. I'm alerting my agents and the local police. We'll get him."

She reached for the phone, and Skinner stopped her. "Kelly, you don't understand what we're dealing with. We have to take care of this ourselves."

Scully understood the naked fear in his voice. Imagine if some local cop started fiddling with the Palm Pilot, or shot Krycek before they could get answers out of him. Imagine if Krycek turned it on, then threw it into the river. Her hand rose to the back of her neck, and the movement caught Skinner's eye. Two of a kind, they were, dependent on the whims of others and technology they didn't understand to keep them alive.

"Ma'am?" she asked. "Please listen to him. You don't understand..."

"I understand that we're dealing with a highly-trained, incredibly dangerous psychopath who gets his kicks terrorizing people I care about," Luebbing snapped back. "I also understand that you and Agent Mulder working alone have let him slip through your fingers repeatedly for the last five years. You need backup, you need help, and you need to flush this rat bastard into the light. Terroristic threats. Possession of unlawful technology. Assault on a federal officer. Attempted murder. I understand *perfectly.* Take your hand off my wrist," she snarled at Skinner.

Skinner recoiled. Mulder's mouth was hanging open. Scully blinked, stunned. What the SAC lacked in imagination, she more than made up for with righteous indignation. I'd hate to be the perp that crossed her, Scully thought. She glanced over at Mulder, and the disbelief in his eyes was being replaced by a slowly dawning realization.

"Mulder?" she said.

"Sir." He addressed Skinner. "I wouldn't begin to imagine living the way you and Agent Scully do. But I do know that it scares the shit out of me every day to think that someone could flip a switch somewhere and cause her cancer to reoccur." His voice caught, but his expression didn't change. He didn't look at Scully. "So, ma'am," he said to Luebbing, "you and I might just be on the same page here. I think I can understand how *you* feel."

Luebbing didn't say anything for a second. "I don't need your approval to make this call," she finally said.

"No," Mulder agreed. "But you'd like it."

She pressed her lips together and nodded reluctantly.

"It's time the guinea pigs took over the lab," Mulder said. "I'm sick of this, too. Let's end it. Sir?"

Skinner swallowed hard. "Agent Scully?"

Scully felt terrible. The danger to him was far more immediate. But Luebbing's list of potential charges against Krycek had struck a nerve. For so long they'd assumed he was untouchable, that like his protectors, he broke the law with impunity. She'd ceased to see him as an ordinary criminal, begun looking at him as a personal nemesis - and lost sight of the truth. Everyone was looking to her, the voice of reason. If what they wanted to do was wrong, she'd talk them out of it.

The importance of Krycek's flip comment about his motivation suddenly struck her. If what he was saying was true, not that there was any guarantee of that, he was alone. He was vulnerable. All bets were off. 

"He's a murderer, too, ma'am, at least twice over," she said with determination, glancing quickly at Mulder. "Make the call."

 

Field office  
10:36 p.m.

Luebbing issued the APB by phone from her apartment, but they still had to go back downtown to make sure the most recent photo was put out on the wire. Krycek's personnel file was hidden away in some locked-away corner of the FBI system, and it contained the six-year-old photo that Scully was sure had graced his ID. He looked so young, she thought with an unexpected pang, studying the face that peered back at her from Luebbing's computer screen. We all did, then.

"Mulder," she said, and her partner looked up from the keyboard, where he'd begun scrolling through surveillance photos to find a more up-to-date picture. She cocked her head at the office door, indicating that he should follow her, and left.

Waiting for Mulder at Nachtaway's desk, Scully fiddled with one of the tiny figurines scattered around the base of the computer, a cartoony orange T-rex with a flame-tipped tail. Charmander evolves into Charmeleon, she thought absently. "This is what bothers me," she began as Mulder joined her. He perched on the edge of the desk, taking care not to scatter the half-dozen pictures of Nachtaway's family and the other Pokemon figurines. "How far do you think it is from our hotel to Luebbing's apartment?"

Mulder shrugged. "A fifteen-minute drive? Maybe six, seven miles. What are you thinking?"

"We'd been assuming that Krycek needed to be nearby to trigger the nanocytes," Scully said. "Didn't we see him a few times in the hospital?"

"And Skinner saw him in the parking garage, and while I was chasing the Tunisians." Mulder frowned. "You think his range has increased?"

"Or we've been making bad assumptions about the technology."

"Either way, I don't like the implication."

"I don't, either. It makes him more difficult to find." Scully put down the Charmander and picked up one of Nachtaway's photos - a small boy, caught in mid-air as he leaped joyfully off a couch. She put it back down, feeling odd holding something so normal given the question she was about to ask.

"What, Scully?"

She sighed. "Did you, ah, learn anything from Skinner when ... when I was in Africa? Anything that might help?"

Mulder swooped down on her, his mouth ending up near her ear. "Scully!" he murmured in delight. "Are you asking me if I read his mind?"

I'm not going to give him the satisfaction, I'm not, I'm not, I'm not ... Scully stared at him, waiting him out.

His astonished look faded into something more sorrowful. "I understood that he was compromised, and that he knew Krycek was the key, despite what he'd told us before." His mouth twisted. "But that's all. It was pretty noisy in there. And I don't remember much of that time clearly, anyhow."

For a moment, his face seemed as thin and wasted as it had when she'd rescued him, and it broke her heart. Cautiously, she looked around. The office was largely empty. Luebbing had closed her door. Safe. She slid her hand onto Mulder's thigh, just above his knee, and patted his leg. "I'm sorry. I know you don't like to talk about it," she whispered.

He covered her hand with his, and bent close again. "It's okay. It was a logical question."

Scully suppressed a small smile. "Only to you, Mulder."

"Anything you two want to share with the rest of the class?"

Startled out of their intimate mood, they leaped apart, Mulder knocking over a photograph or two as he made space between himself and Scully. "Nachtaway!" Scully gasped. "I thought you went home."

"Just to say goodnight to my kids and check up on Maria. My neighbor," she added. And apparently to change clothes, too - her dark pantsuit of earlier in the day had been replaced by khakis and a soft cotton T-shirt. Scully wished she'd had time to do the same.

"Got a lead," Nachtaway said. "The moron used a stolen credit card number to pay his current ISP, and the same one for his previous ISP. We've frozen open the current account, to see if he comes back or tries to close it."

"That's something." Scully could tell the other woman was pleased.

"And now that we've got strong video from two more crime scenes, we've got enough to play Spot the Perp," Nachtaway added. "We figure he might have been there. Want to help?"

Scully shook her head regretfully. "The case we're here for just heated up."

"Ah." Nachtaway narrowed her eyes. "Does it have to do with the APB that just went out?"

Mulder and Scully looked at each other. Mulder shrugged. "Yes," Scully said.

"Who's the federal officer?"

Again they looked at each other. So hard to let others into the inner circle, even when they knew they needed help. "AD Skinner," Mulder said.

"AD -" Nachtaway glanced at Luebbing's closed door. "Her --?"

"Our boss," Scully said.

"Your - wow." Nachtaway blinked, considered, and recovered. "Makes you wonder what really goes on at those management retreats, huh?"

"Maybe I should start attending," Mulder said, deadpan.

"Oh, sure," Scully said. "I'd pay to see you go three days without using any negative words."

He gave her a mock pout as Nachtaway shook her head in amazement. "Kelly bagged herself an AD," she said, then held up a videotape and waggled it at them. "You sure? Raw video footage from crime scenes doesn't do it for you? Hours of fun for the whole family. Well, I'll be in the conference room if you change your minds."

"Where were we?" Scully asked when she was gone.

"Palm Pilots." Mulder smiled. "Or alternately, what your palm was doing a minute ago."

"Behave." But she smiled back.

And then it was Skinner's turn to materialize in front of them and break the intimate spell. "Agents."

"Sir," they gasped in unison. We have *got* to get the hang of this, Scully thought.

Although if Skinner had noticed any difference in their public behavior -- Scully almost felt as if her father had caught her making out with a boyfriend -- it was hard to tell. Whatever he and Luebbing had been discussing behind her closed door had put him in a mood. His eyes darted around the room, and he nearly twitched with the suppressed tension. Behind him, Luebbing left her office and headed for the communal coffee pot. He nodded towards her.

"I've told Kelly as much as I think she can absorb. Now you tell me your theories about the rest."

Scully nodded and outlined what she and Mulder had been discussing earlier. "I wish I knew more about the technology, sir."

Skinner reached into his shirt pocket and handed Scully the last thing she expected to see in his hand - a Palm Pilot, a real one. She stared at him in amazement and he glanced away, the way he always did. "Something else I learned about in a management seminar," he said. "Plus, it doesn't hurt to understand the enemy's weapon."

Mulder plucked the gizmo from Scully's hand, like a kid examining a new toy. "These things can beam messages to one another, right?"

"Right. But you generally need a line-of-sight connection and you have to be in the same room." Skinner frowned. "He'd have to be using an unusual and powerful frequency to make it work at that distance."

Scully thought about what Krycek had told her of the technology's origins. She couldn't bring herself to say the word. Skinner still thought she was the sane one, and she liked it that way. "That's entirely possible, sir."

"That would probably make it easy to pinpoint and trace, then." He turned to the coffee area, where Luebbing was eyeing them balefully over her cup. "Kelly, who's your surveillance expert?"

She started to answer, but a huge whoop came out of the conference room. "Boss! C'mere! I got him!" Nachtaway yelled.

Mulder looked at Skinner. "I have a better idea."

Skinner rolled his eyes skyward.

"It'll be faster," Mulder wheedled. "Especially if *their* case just got hot."

"They'd be more open to the idea, sir," Scully added, watching Luebbing study an image frozen on Nachtaway's videos. "She's not going to be able to spare staff right now, I think. Not unless we've got an actual lead ourselves."

"All right." Skinner stared hard at Mulder. "But you tell those punk friends of yours that they show me some respect this time, or I'll personally see to it that their PGP keys are on record in the Director's office as keys belonging to known criminal hackers."

"Got it." Mulder began to dial.

Luebbing stuck her head out of the conference room. "Agent Scully, we need a third set of eyes here."

The same face was on two television screens, its image jerking as the VCRs struggled to hold the paused tapes. Non-descript, twenties, white male, a bit dumpy, but sharp-eyed. Like Eddie Van Blundht, but smarter-looking, Scully thought. Nachtaway had her arms crossed tightly over her chest, and was openly fuming.

"Jenny, he's in a Cinergy uniform," Luebbing said, sympathy in her voice. "He belongs there."

"But it's him! It's got to be. I know it."

Scully stepped closer to the TV. She recognized the background on one - the elaborate floral clock she'd noticed across the street from the conservatory. The man stood on the curb, his back to the clock. He seemed only to be watching, despite his work clothes. "Cinergy is the utility company, right?" she asked. Nachtaway nodded. Scully pointed at one of the two TVs. "Look where he is. The other workers were all right in front of the building. He's nowhere near the site of the explosion."

Nachtaway uncoiled, and jabbed the man's image with a finger. Then she did the same to the other TV. "She's right. Same at the library. Look."

"Okay," Luebbing said. "All right. Let's run his picture past Cinergy and see if he really works there. Good work."

Nachtaway grinned, and picked up a phone. "Thanks," she told Scully. "Let me alert the local PD - Mike!" she said to the phone. "Jenny. We've got a suspect. We'll fax you a shot."

Luebbing was reaching for a second phone when it rang. She frowned. "FBI. Hang on." She covered the receiver and looked at Nachtaway. "Your husband."

"Dammit." Nachtaway hung up her phone and gestured at Luebbing to hand over the second one. "I *told* him the Orajel was on the kitchen counter. Hey!" she said brightly into the receiver. Her face turned serious instantly. "Dave. Honey. Slow down. Wait. I'm putting you on speaker. My boss is here."

"What is it?" Luebbing asked.

"He got an email. Dave? SAC Luebbing's here, and another agent, Agent Scully, from Washington. Tell us again."

Scully heard Nachtaway's husband exhale audibly, and she pictured the small, dark-haired man in one of the pictures on Nachtaway's desk. "I was checking my work email one last time after I put the kids to bed," he said, his voice tinny through the phone speaker. "And I found about a dozen filled with that Shakespearean cr ... stuff you've been talking about."

"Dave. Read one," Luebbing said.

"They're all the same. 'Thence comes it that my name receives a brand/And almost thence my nature is subdued.'"

"Fuck," Nachtaway said. "Fuck. Fuck. Dave, call corporate security. NOW. We'll contact local PD. Save the emails. I'm not going to be home tonight."

They could hear it dawning on him. "Shit. Okay. Seeya."

"Does he work at Ivorydale or the towers?" Luebbing asked Nachtaway.

"Ivorydale."

"Do they run 24-7?"

"Yeah. I think they're coming up on a shift change." Nachtaway was dialing, and then talking.

Luebbing turned to Scully. "Get yourself a jacket. Find one for Agent Mulder. Tell Walter we could use him, too."

Oh, no. Mulder in the field, on an active, physical case. She'd have to talk to him, convince him to stay at the command post, anything. There was no time to explain this to Luebbing.

"What's the target?" Scully knew Nachtaway had told her where her husband worked, but she couldn't remember.

"Procter & Gamble. Dave's a top dog in one of the soap divisions. A dozen emails." Luebbing was already halfway out the door. "This could be bad. Let's go."

Ivorydale  
11:05 p.m.

Scully released her death grip on the door handle as Nachtaway roared up in front of the fortress-like Ivorydale complex. Next time Mulder criticizes my driving, I'm going to remind him of this moment, she thought, watching her partner extricate himself from the back seat.

Already the huge brick factory, which resembled nothing more than a medieval castle, was surrounded by black and whites with lights flashing, fire engines, ambulances and utility trucks blinking yellow. Hordes of confused, white-coat wearing civilians were being herded outside the gate - the night shift, being evacuated. But the chaos was on the surface, the mood tense and anticipatory. Mulder unwittingly stepped onto a manhole cover; nervously, Scully pulled him off.

"You know what to do," she said.

Frustration, humiliation, and so fast she almost didn't see it, a tiny bit of gratitude flashed across his face. "Command post," he said sullenly.

She drew him aside by the sleeve of his FBI windbreaker as Nachtaway passed them with a quick, curious glance. "I want you to be safe."

Mulder looked away, his lips pressed together. "I know."

A plainclothes officer peeled out of a small knot of officials leaning over the trunk of an unmarked car. "Jenny!" he called. "Over here. We're working with the Cinergy people to pinpoint the locations of all the manholes. Nothing's blown yet."

"Mike." Nachtaway nodded in greeting and began to follow him, when there was a sudden commotion at the factory gate. Everyone whirled. "Shit," she muttered, and ran towards the fuss. Scully automatically followed.

"Suspicious activity in an area we'd cleared," the corporate security officer was telling the assembled law enforcement officials when Scully arrived inside. A few seconds of instructions and directions, and they fanned out through the plant. Scully, paired with Nachtaway, drew her gun and was gliding alongside one of the dozens of huge silver industrial tanks scattered across the production area when the explosion sounded.

The two women immediately dropped to the concrete floor, and jerked as the manhole cover clanged against a tank and fell to the floor. "Over there." Nachtaway gestured across the plant, to where people were beginning to gather around the displaced disc. Relieved, Scully began to stand - and another manhole cover blew. And another, and another. One shot into the ceiling lights, showering sparks everywhere. The alarm system exploded into deafening screeches.

"Jesus Christ," Nachtaway shouted over the din, pressing herself against the tank. "It's never been more than one or two before."

Scully curled her arms over her head and ducked as a manhole cover Frisbeed above them. A second body squeezed in next to her, and she started, until newly-familiar lips brushed against her ear.

"Shit, Scully." Mulder was breathing hard, but no more so than she or Nachtaway. "Next time I say I want to do something exciting with a little action where nobody gets hurt, take me to see a movie."

"What the hell are you doing in here?" she shouted, furious.

"The guys are triangulating Krycek's position. They think he's close. I need to keep a line open for them. I thought you'd want to know."

Even in all the chaos, his sarcasm was audible. "Thanks," she said seriously. "Are you okay?"

"Considering the fact that someone is trying to take our heads off with manhole covers, yes." One struck the other side of their tank with a huge metallic clang, and Mulder launched himself over Scully. Her ears were ringing from the sound of the impact and the horrible noise the alarms were making, and through it, somehow, she heard a cell phone chirping. All three of them clutched at their pockets.

"Me," Mulder said. "Langly. What - where?"

"Krycek?" Scully asked, and he nodded.

"Your APB?" Nachtaway said.

"Where is he?" Scully said to Mulder.

Mulder listened, and his eyes widened. "About 100 feet that way." He pointed across the factory floor, and ducked again as yet another manhole cover banged against the ceiling and came down about 10 feet away.

"What is he --?" Scully shook her head. Krycek's motives didn't matter right now. Getting to him did. "We've got to tell Skinner."

"I'll call Luebbing." Nachtaway punched a number into her own cell phone.

"Is he moving?" Mulder said into his phone, hand pressed against his free ear. "No. Okay."

Another explosion, and they huddled against the tank again. "How the hell do we track him with all this going on?" Scully wondered.

"At least he's pinned down, too," Mulder pointed out. He looked around, thinking, still holding the phone.

The cry cut through the rest of the din. "Officer down!" a woman's voice shouted. Luebbing.

"Power surge and back to normal," Mulder reported. "He's on the move."

Scully began to edge away, gun at the ready. "Which way?"

"You're crazy," Nachtaway said.

"Somebody's got to follow him. You can't," she said to Mulder, and he winced. "Which way?"

"There." Mulder pointed again, and she saw a flash of movement a few tanks away. She darted to the next one, covering her hair as a sudden shower of sparks hit her, and looked back. Mulder gestured, giving her directions, then turned to Nachtaway, who was asking him a question. Scully snaked through the tanks - God, she was never going to get a clear shot.

"Give it up, Krycek!" she shouted. "We've got a lock on your position!"

Nothing. Of course. She doubted he even heard her in this racket. She slid around the curved wall of another tank, and lost sight of Mulder. On her own now. There - movement - "Freeze!" she shouted, and leveled her gun at Krycek. He turned and ran anyhow. "Dammit, Krycek - whoa!"

A huge wall of soapy water smacked her in the legs, knocking her feet out from under her. She landed hard on her left hip and wrist, and saw Krycek go down as well. Skinner skidded by, followed by half a dozen police officers, all of them kicking up a nice wake of suds. The AD was covered in them by the time he got to Krycek, suds clinging to his chest and what was left of his hair. Scully struggled to her feet, shaking suds from her fingertips and brushing them off the front of her FBI windbreaker. She could feel them dripping down her hair.

The alarms were still going, but the explosions, she realized, had stopped.

Mulder was sitting atop one of the tanks, dry as a bone.

Then the alarms stopped, too, just in time for her to hear Skinner announce with glee, "Alex Krycek, you're under arrest."

The police radios crackled - suspect, outside, busted - and Nachtaway burst out from behind her tank and skated through the suds to get outside. Mulder clambered down the side of the tank, and slipped the minute his foot touched the ground. He disappeared into the suds.

"Mulder!" Scully cried, and made her way to the tank. He was struggling to a seated position, rubbing an elbow, his shoulders shaking. She batted away suds to get to him, clearing a space around him, frightened at his reaction - and annoyed when she realized he was laughing between the wheezes.

"This isn't my brand," he managed. "I use the mountain fresh."

Scully took a deep breath. "Lemons?"

"It's Dawn, Scully. Dishwashing liquid." He gave her a cocky grin. "Did you know that glycerin makes the bubbles last and last? Nachtaway told me so."

She couldn't help it. The only thing she could think to do was to smack him, so she did.

"I thought you liked bubble baths," he said, rubbing his bicep.

She smacked him again.

Skinner trundled by with Krycek, who was in shackles. Plastic handcuffs circled his upper arms as a backup. "Nice working with you, Alex," Mulder called out.

Krycek spat something in Russian at him, and Mulder replied in kind. Skinner cuffed Krycek on the back of the head, and moved him on his way. It was the happiest Scully had ever seen her boss.

"What was all that?" she asked Mulder.

"Oh, the usual, fuck you, yo mama, that sort of thing. Pillow talk." He paused. "You're not going to hit me again?"

"My arm is tired." Instead, she put one soapy hand on his cheek, deliberately ignoring the possibility of discovery, and couldn't help but smile.

Mulder pushed some suds away in a futile attempt to keep their space clear. "What, Scully?"

"I was wondering if Procter & Gamble knows about this new application for their product."

"Dawn takes greaseballs out of your family's way?" Mulder said.

"You watch waaay too much television," she told him, and sighed. "Funny after all these years, that all it took was a faceful of suds."

"And some kick-ass surveillance by the guys." Mulder paused. "And you, pushing me to finish a job that wasn't done. Thank you."

Scully ducked her head. "No, Mulder. You -"

"Don't, Scully. Listen." He leaned his head against the tank and closed his eyes briefly, then began to recite. "Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry -"

She wasn't sure what look was on her face, but it made him stop. "Don't worry, Scully, it's a metaphor. Listen." And he continued:

"Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry,  
As to behold desert a beggar born,  
And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,  
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,  
And gilded honor shamefully misplac'd,  
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,  
And right perfection wrongfully disgrac'd  
And strength by limping sway disabled,  
And art made tongue-tied by authority,  
And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill,  
And simple truth miscall'd simplicity,  
And captive good attending captive ill:  
Tired with all these, from these I would be gone,  
Save that to die, I leave my love alone."

Mulder's eyes were huge and dark and fixed on her when he finished. She opened her mouth, but closed it - words couldn't express her emotions at the moment. She felt her mouth twist, and tears welled in her eyes. Under the suds, Mulder slipped his hand into hers, and she knew what she had to do.

"You know, it's been a long time since I took any real time off," she said, her voice trembling just a little. "I could use a vacation."

"I agree," Mulder said, his eyes sparkling.

"But only on one condition."

"What's that?"

"That you take it with me."

He smiled, a slow, sunny expression that completely changed his face. She didn't think she'd ever seen him look like that before. "Okay," he said.

She found herself grinning foolishly, too. "Okay."

"Can I watch you eat ice cream again, too?" Mulder asked hopefully.

"Only if you also want to watch me get fat."

"Scully, you know I could watch you anywhere, anytime, in any state." His voice was serious, and she understood what he meant. If she hadn't heard someone sloshing towards them through the suds, she would have kissed him again.

"My husband is going to be soooo pissed at me," Nachtaway said with a huge grin. Her pants were soaked to the knees, but she'd otherwise escaped the suds. "I just flooded his office."

"This was *your* idea?" Scully said, amazed. She'd just assumed that something so loopy had to have come out of Mulder's brain.

"Pays to listen when your husband talks about his job, let me tell you. You're sitting in a couple of thousand gallons of his product." She looked at them. "Want to hear about the perp?"

"Bring it on," Mulder said.

"The asshole," she said with an irritated jerk of her head, "wanted to be a linesman. But they rejected him, because he came off as too dumb for the job. The sonnets were his way of showing how smart he was. The manhole covers, well, you can figure that out."

"Oh, my God," Scully said, and looked at Mulder.

"Scully, you rule," Mulder said. 

"I was making that up so you'd shut up and let me eat my ice cream," she said, still astonished. "I didn't mean it."

"You can make up a profile any time," he said, and leaned over and kissed her.

"Ewwww! Kissing!" Nachtaway said, waving her hands in front of her face, but smiling anyway. Scully felt herself blushing, but didn't care. "Look, if you're still in town tomorrow, call me. We'll have dinner if my husband is speaking to me. Or even if he's not."

"That would be nice," Scully said, and meant it.

Mulder watched the local agent wade away. "Pokemon earrings, Scully. It's a look you could handle."

"Not Pikachu. Yellow isn't my color," she said in mock seriousness. "I could get away with Staryu earrings at work, though, I think."

"Dinner and shopping. It's a start." Mulder winked at her.

"So what else do we do with our time off?" she asked him.

He shrugged. "Go look at the rest of the pigs, I guess. Whatever else it is normal people do. Real life suddenly seems very appealing."

Scully thought about that for a moment, then rose, and extended a hand. Mulder pulled himself to his feet. "Real life, huh?" she said. "Would we even know how to act?"

"Want to find out?" He grinned at her, an invitation she couldn't resist. She grinned back.

"Absolutely."

-30-

**Author's Note:**

> More author's notes:
> 
> In case you've forgotten, this was a scullyfic improv. The elements were:  
> Scully, Mulder and Skinner, fully dressed, covered in soapy bubbles (Shannon);  
> Krycek being chased by Mulder and Scully with pointy sticks (Zephathah)  
> Mulder or Scully reciting one of Shakespeare's sonnets to the other (Shawne);  
> Mulder and Scully and the creative use of non-FBI issued handcuffs (Lisa);  
> Scully discussing Mulder and their partnership with another female agent (cquinb);  
> And the bonus element, Mulder discovers Scully's secret fetish for Pokemon (Shawne).
> 
> The sonnets came from The Riverside Shakespeare. Mulder recites #66 to Scully. The Bengals got #91; the Enquirer #102; the library #55; the conservatory #124.
> 
> I wasn't exaggerating about the ice cream either: http://www.graeters.com. The chili is an acquired taste, but it's one I'm happy to have: http://www.skylinechili.com. (The company once used the song "Twilight Time" as its theme. This added a whole 'nother level to Kill Switch for me: "Whenever you're feeling good and hungry, it's Skyline Time...")
> 
> The pigs are for real, too. http://www.bigpiggig.com. 
> 
> If you just have to see the Pokemons, the Pokedex is at http://www.pokemon.com.
> 
> Research assistance from scullyfic experts Barbara D., Michaela and Nlynn; my Cincinnati connections, especially my brother-in-law and my good friend the ex-Dawn chemist; and the family research team, my husband the techno-boy and my baffled boy the Pokemon fiend ("Mom, why do you want to know about green Pokemons?").
> 
> The Beta Band: haphazard method and EPurSeMouve.
> 
> I'm officially homesick now. 


End file.
